


Mooning Over You Like an Eighties Love Song

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: For one night and one night only, The D-Men! [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Also: lost one baby russian, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Grinding, Humor, In which the author had to explain Frings to Greymichaela, M/M, Please return to the Leafs without any wrist injuries, Set back in December ish, Trav is just so far gone for his Swede, with appearances by most of the current defense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: “Who the fuck says mooning anymore?”Or,Travis needs better friends.
Relationships: Travis Dermott/Andreas Johnsson
Series: For one night and one night only, The D-Men! [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1641889
Comments: 12
Kudos: 134





	Mooning Over You Like an Eighties Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> So, I started off with the December time line, and then...it just kind of developed into its own thing. Andreas is out with his injury, mostly healed, Rasmus isn't up yet, and the defense men are meddling. 
> 
> This has been my baby for the past week so let me know what you think! Unbeta'd so mistakes are the only thing I own.

The loss to the Jets fucking  _ sucks.  _

It’s a subdued locker room as they get stripped down, guys heading for the showers, a few with their heads bent together going over what they did wrong, what they could have done different. 

Travis keeps his head down, acutely aware of how many times he turned the puck over. Sitting like a lead weight in his stomach, heavy and oppressive, it keeps him pinned in place, sweat drying on his skin leaving him feeling chilled, like his skin has been stretched too tight over his bones. 

“At least it wasn’t the Kings, right?” Justin claps him on the shoulder, gives him an extra shove just because. Travis bats him away with a scowl. 

“We played a good game tonight.” Keefe catches their attention, gaze going from player to player. Travis forces himself to meet his eyes, but Keefe doesn’t single him out for all of his dumb plays. It’s a relief. The injured guys have been up in the press box for the game but they slip in now. Andreas takes one look at Travis and heads straight for him, sliding into the space Travis automatically makes for him on the bench. He stretches one long leg out in front of him, his ankle probably bothering him after a long day. He catches a whiff of Andreas’ cologne over the smell of his own sweat and he catches himself swaying forwards, chasing the scent. 

“We’ll get them next time,” Keefe continues. “Tape review on Friday; get a good night's sleep tonight, we’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” 

A half hearted round of applause goes around, gaining in traction when they award Freddie the ball.

Andreas leans against his side as the coaches leave, the guys free to go about their post game routines. Travis can smell himself-  _ knows _ he doesn’t smell like roses- but Andreas ignores it, settling more firmly against his side until Travis has no choice but to wrap an arm around his shoulders, holding them both up. 

Justin spots them, eyebrows shooting up. A knowing smirk makes its way across his face. Travis subtly flips him off.

“Sucks,” Andreas mutters so suddenly it startles him. He drops his hand back down quickly.

“What does?” he asks as if he doesn’t know where this is leading. He’d spent the first few months of the season sitting out because of a bad hit during the playoffs, he knows how frustrating it is to be benched.

“Wish I could have helped.” Andreas gestures at his bad ankle. “Frustrating that I can’t.”

“You laced up yesterday,” Travis reminds him. “It can’t be long now.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, dropping his head back, resting on Travis’ arm. 

“Not soon enough.” He rolls his head so he’s facing Travis, blue eyes sparkling. “Need to get back to help your sorry ass out.”

Startled, Travis shoves him away, laughing. Andreas lets him, grin wide and wicked.

“Asshole.” Travis pushes to his feet, relishing the way his muscles ache from the game. “Why do I miss you again?”

Andreas eyes light up, delighted. Travis quickly strips his shirt off to hide the way his cheeks heat, keeping his head ducked as he tosses it onto the bench next to Andreas. 

“You’d be lost without me,” Andreas teases. Travis rolls his eyes, ignoring how accurate the words are.

“Keep dreaming,” he shoots back, heading for the showers. 

::

“You’re a mess.” 

That’s fair but he’s not about to admit that.

“I think I look handsome.” Travis demolishes another wing, sucking the sauce off his fingers loudly. Andreas rolls his eyes but he can’t hide the fondness that has settled in the quirk of his lips and softness of his gaze. Travis is  _ 100% _ preening. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, man,” Justin tosses a handful of wet wipes at him. They end up scattered across the table and his lap. The waitress had taken one look at how many of them there were, and what they were ordering and had brought them a heaping pile. She’s  _ definitely _ dealt with hockey players before. “But there’s no saving that face.”

_ “Marincin _ thinks I’m handsome, right?” He bats his lashes exaggeratedly.

“Don’t bring me into this.” Martin holds up a wing in defence. He’s been steadily working his way through the pile before him. There’s sauce smeared over his chin and coating his hands but the guys don’t chirp  _ him _ for it. 

“Honestly, there’s no love amongst the D-squad,” he tells Andreas sadly. 

Justin chokes a little. “Is that what you’ve been calling us?” 

“It’s that or D-men.” 

Justin’s face goes through a series of complicated expressions. 

“I thought we agreed you weren’t allowed to name anything?” Martin chimes in, the traitor.

“That was Tyler.”

“No, that was definitely you,” Justin agrees. 

Travis looks to Andreas for help but he just shrugs with a grin.

“Remember what you called us when we won the Calder?” 

_ “Moving on,” _ Travis interrupts before he can remind the others of  _ that _ particularly terrible name. He tears open a package of wipes, scrubbing over his face and fingers. There’s a bucket of frings with his name on them and Justin had decreed long ago that they weren’t allowed to grab any with their grubby, sauce covered fingers. Just because the dude has no head for spice unlike the rest of them.

“You missed a spot.” Andreas hands him another wipe, gesturing at his face. Travis scrubs over his chin again. “No, there.” He gestures at some vague space below his nose. Travis tries again, tilting his face up to see if it’s to his satisfaction.

Andreas gives him an exasperated look, reaching out. His hands are damp, cool from the wipes, a stark contrast to the way his touch ignites Travis’s skin. His touch is steady, thumb dragging against the corner of Travis’s mouth. He catches on Travis’s lip and Travis’s heart pounds, electricity sparking from that small point of contact. The others must be able to hear it with how loud it is, the way it roars in his ears. Andreas’ eyes are dark, cheeks pink. Travis can’t tear his gaze away.

“Everything alright here, boys?” 

They jerk apart, startled. The waitress gives them a bland smile. 

“Uh, I think we’re good here.” Justin is giving him a  _ seriously _ judgy face. 

“I’m good,” Martin adds in. Then, because he’s an  _ asshole, _ “Trav?”

“Fine.” The way his voice comes out is certainly new and exciting. The waitress gives him a startled look. Travis makes a mental note to leave her a big tip.

“And you?” 

“Could I get another water?” Andreas’ cheeks are still a tempting pink. Travis tears his gaze away. 

“Someone’s  _ thirsty,” _ Justin mutters, then yelps. He gives Andreas a betrayed look, but Andreas is already sliding out of the booth with a muttered,

“Bathroom.” 

Travis watches him go because he’s a weak, weak man. And Andreas is wearing tight,  _ tight _ jeans today.

“Anything you wanna tell us, Derms?” 

“Absolutely not.” He stuffs a fistfull of frings into his mouth with gusto. It does the trick- Justin gives him a disgusted look, unwilling to question him further with his mouth stuffed full. 

Thank fuck for small miracles.

::

“So, it’s come to our attention that you’re still crushing on Mango.”

Travis drops his controller.

Cody takes the opportunity to pass Travis’ Yoshi, sending him careening off into space. It’s pretty telling that this is the only way he can beat him at Mario Kart. Travis recovers enough to give him a satisfying shove off the couch. 

“Fuck you.” It’s directed to the entirety of the room. None of the guys have the decency to appear offended.  _ “You’re _ still crushing on Mango.”

Justin makes a face. “With guys like Marns on our team? Mango’s all yours, buddy.” 

“I’m not really sure I should be here,” Mo pipes up from the armchair. He’s got his phone out and has, up until now, been furiously texting. “It sounds like you have a lot of history,”

“Can I leave too then?” Cody adds, tossing his controller, far too smug for a guy that’s only won  _ one _ of the past six games.

“No one is leaving!” Martin shuts that down quickly. Mo rolls his eyes and goes back to texting. “This is an intervention. Listen,” Martin continues, earnestly. “We care about you, Derms. So we’ve called the D-men together,”

“Minus Muzz!” Tyson chimes in.

“Minus Muzz,” Martin allows.

“I fucking  _ knew _ you liked that name!” Travis crows, feeling justified. Martin ignores him.

“Muzz says we can Facetime him later if we need the extra hand,” Mo adds in, not looking up from his phone. Travis is starting to feel ignored. It’s not a feeling he’s used to.

“What’s Gards up to?” Justin tries peering over Mo’s shoulder. “We could get him on this too; he’s got money on when these two idiots will get their shit together.” 

Mo clutches the phone to his chest, cheeks taking on an interesting shade of pink. 

_ “Anyway.” _ They all shut up at Martin’s  _ look. _ Shit, he was better off when Martin was down in the Marlies- at least then he wasn’t interested in interfering in Travis’  _ lack _ of a love life. This is all Justin’s horrible influence. “The point is, you’ve been  _ mooning _ over Andreas for like,  _ ages.” _

“Who the fuck says  _ mooning _ anymore?” 

“Listen, Swedes are just unfairly hot,” Tyson says with all seriousness. There’s a far away look in his eyes. It’s actually a little intense. “I get it. But you gotta go for it, man. Even if you’re not like, a ten or whatever. Reach out and seize your Swede.” 

Travis isn’t entirely sure they’re still talking about him. 

“Speaking from experience?” Mo chirps. 

Tyson blinks, coming back from whatever place he’d drifted off to. He grins, shrugging. 

“I don’t kiss and tell.”

“I’ve known you guys for like, what? Five months?” Cody adds. “And you’ve had it bad for this kid for  _ at least _ that long. Not that you’re the worst, I mean, this entire team acts like they’re all  _ pining.  _ I’m pretty sure you’re all trying to turn it into a national sport.”

“Fuck off, no we don’t.” Justin tosses a pillow at him, catching him unsuspecting across the face. 

“Our Captain, our A’s, most of the blue line  _ and _ the goalie?” he names off. There’s a collective wince that goes around at the realization that he might be right. “Does pining keep you all young or something? I swear none of you  _ age.” _

“Oh no, pining  _ sucks. _ You’ve gotta seize the day,” Mo is all earnest puppy eyes and Travis can feel himself crumbling under the look. “You don’t want to look up one day and realize it’s too late and he’s been like, traded, or something.” He settles back into the cushions, shifty eyed, toying with his phone.

Okay, they’ve definitely stumbled upon a whole new can of worms to unpack later.

“I feel like this intervention’s gotten out of hand.” Martin frowns. “We had a script.”

“It was a napkin,” Justin points out. “And all it said was  _ ‘get them to bone’.” _

Travis flushes scarlet.

“You know what—” He pushes to his feet quickly. “I think I forgot to take my laundry out. And I need it for our roadtrip. Don’t want that mildew smell!”

“Since when do you do your own laundry?” Justin stares at him like he’s grown an extra head. Which,  _ ouch.  _ He can  _ adult. _ Sometimes.

“Hey!” Martin calls after him as he beats a quick retreat. “We’re not done!”

“Oh no, I think we are!” Travis shoves his feet in his shoes and snatches his coat up. “This was inspiring, thanks guys- let’s never do this again!”

He’s out of there before he can hear their response.

::

They leave it alone after that.

Well, he assumes they do.

They’ve got a short road trip- Nashville, then Dallas. The weather’s gorgeous, the games chippy. Andreas isn’t quite day to day yet so he stays at home with Muzz and Trevor. He texts Travis throughout the day, sending him pictures of what he’s watching, short videos of dogs that pass him on the street, of him cooking, of him in the gym. 

That last one almost kills him, to be honest.

Travis sends back pictures of the guys, a video of Marner eating wasabi icecream as part of a dare and loving it  _ (what the ever loving fuck), _ of Tyler Seguin’s dogs when Tyson introduces them all properly. 

He snaps a selfie of himself after practice in Nashville when he’s feeling particularly daring, stripped down to his bottoms, sweaty and flushed, and looking damn good if he does say so himself. A moment later his phone alerts him that his snap has been replayed. He gets back a series of heart eyed emojis and has to put his phone away before Justin spots his dopey grin from across the room. 

The guys have apparently decided to focus on their two game road trip and  _ not _ on Travis, so he’s able to relax, spend his time thinking about hockey (and Andreas) and not his teammates (and Andreas). He lets his guard down, enjoys the warm weather, the chirping, the chippy, defensive style of hockey the boys in the south play. 

They grab lunch at an outdoor smokehouse, just on the outskirts of downtown Dallas. The smells are heavenly, the food is to die for. He’s snapping pictures of the food, the decor, the stray cat he’s been stealthily feeding next to their table. The other guys mostly ignore him, enjoying some cold beers and mouthwatering barbeque on their off day. He sends Andreas a quick picture of the table with a  _ wish you were here _ because he’s feeling particularly nostalgic at the moment. Less than a minute later he gets a snap, and figuring it’s Andreas, he opens it without checking. 

And is met with his own face grinning dopily at his phone. 

He jerks his head up to where Justin is  _ very carefully _ not looking at him, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He narrows his eyes, but Justin doesn’t glance over, suddenly very interested in the conversation the Goat and Dmytro are having next to him. 

“Hey,” Justin continues to ignore him so Travis kicks him with another,  _ “Hey!” _

Justin jerks back at the assault on his shin, betrayed. 

_ “What?” _

“What the hell was that?”

“You kicked me!” They garner a few glances but are largely ignored by the group. 

“I meant the  _ photo _ , jackass.” 

“Oh.” Justin suddenly can’t meet his eyes. Travis gets a sinking feeling.

“What did you do.”

“I didn’t mean to send it to you.” Justin defends. “You were at the top of my best friends list, hit the wrong name by mistake.” 

“Who the hell were you trying to send a photo of me to?” His friend gets a shifty look on his face and Travis has a feeling he knows  _ exactly _ who it was for. “Oh. Oh no. Please tell me that was the only one.”

“Like you haven’t been messaging him this entire trip.” Justin regains his footing, pointing one long finger at Travis. He needs new friends. “We’re just providing him with some extra content of our boy!”

Travis thinks about just banging his head against the table and how much force it would require to knock him out, or give him amnesia so he can forget this conversation.

“We?” he asks even though he doesn’t want to know the answer.

“D-men look out for our own.” Justin winks. 

“I need better friends,” Travis groans and gives in to the temptation of resting his head against the table. Repeatedly.

::

Andreas doesn’t mention the extra photos he supposedly had been receiving from Travis’ meddling teammates, not over text and not when they get back to Toronto. It’s probably for the best- Travis isn’t sure he could handle the stress of Andreas asking why he’s been sent all these photos- but a part of him  _ is _ curious about what he thought of the photo he caught Tyson snapping at the hotel pool. 

They have morning practice and then the afternoon off, so Travis follows Andreas over to Queen West. The weather is a bitter cold wind coming in off the lake and travelling through the streets, creating wind tunnels. The sun is bright over head, the sky the kind of brilliant blue it only ever is on the most frigid of winter days. There’s barely any snow on the ground to even make the weather worthwhile, just small piles left over from their last dip above zero degrees, and refrozen when it fell drastically a day later. 

It’s the middle of the day and they’re bundled up, along with the rest of the population that isn’t at work or in school, so no one pays them any mind, hurrying along to get where they’re going. Despite paying an arm and a leg for his gloves, his fingers are still frozen as they duck into one store after another, more to stay warm than for anything that catches their eye in the store windows. He toys with the idea of tangling them with Andreas’, claiming the cold as the reason. Their hands brush and Andreas glances over at him, cheeks pinked and lips red, a small sweet smile in place. Travis stuffs his hands into his coat pockets and bumps their shoulders together instead, pleased at the huff of laughter it garners.

Somehow they end up over by John Street and end up wandering down, out of self preservation, to the Scotiabank theatre. It’s deserted at this time of day and they pick the next available movie, stocking up on popcorn and treats. The theatre is empty save for them and an older man sitting way at the back. They end up near the front, feet up and tilted back in their seats as far as they can go. For once there’s no air conditioning going, but the theatre isn’t exactly  _ warm _ either and Travis is shivering a little as the previews get going. Next to him he can feel fine tremors wracking Andreas’ body as well, and doesn’t think before he reaches out, stretching an arm around his shoulders and pulling him close against his body. Andreas goes without complaint, curling into him, head resting on his shoulder. He flushes scarlet at the easy intimacy of it all, of how soft Andreas’ hair feels against his cheek, or how the faint citrus scent of his body wash stands out past the smell of the bags of popcorn in their laps. 

If asked, Travis could probably tell you bit and pieces of the movie, enough to prove he was really there at least. In reality he spends the majority of it hyper aware of every breath Andreas takes, of every little move or sound, like at any moment he’ll catch onto Travis, of how hard his heart is pounding, and want to pull away. He enjoys it while it lasts and can’t help but feel remorse when the movie’s over and Andreas does pull away.

::

They’re celebrating a win against Minnesota. Thursday night is the beginning of the weekend for the club scene and it shows in the press of bodies and the noise that almost manages to cover the thumping bass. Travis has a shot in one hand, his phone in the other, and is gleefully snapping pictures of Ilya as he tries the different drinks Willy is handing him, most for the first time. The expressions on his face are  _ priceless _ and totally getting sent to the group chat.

“Hey, loser!” Martin curls around him, shouting in his ear to be heard over the roar of the crowd. He’s leaning a little heavier than normal, working his way from buzzed to  _ trashed. _ Travis is so happy Keefe prefers afternoon practices. “What’re you doing up here? This is your song!”

Travis can’t hear enough of the song to actually  _ confirm _ that it’s his song but he loves the steady thump of the bass and Martin’s already peeling away to head back towards the packed dance floor, so Travis thinks  _ what the hell _ and downs his shot. 

Bodies press up against his as he follows Martin through the crowd; breasts, ass, Travis is man enough to admit that the low burn of arousal in his veins is from the attractive strangers surrounding them. A hand curls around his waist, a hard body pressed up against his side, Travis lets himself be pulled into the gentle roll of hips, turns in the arms to slot their hips together. 

Wicked green eyes are half lidded, a tempting plush mouth barely parted. Travis winds his arms around the guy’s neck, falls into it for a bit. Against his thigh he can feel where the guy is chubbing up, presses a little harder and hears the way his breath hitches, the grip on Travis’ hips tightening. He plays at it for a while, toys with the idea of taking this back to his place, of pressing him down into the bed and seeing what his skin tastes like, what sounds he can pull from his lips. 

The tempo picks up a bit and Travis spots Muzz through the crowd and a familiar shock of blonde hair. The guy doesn’t try to stop him as he disentangles himself, finds another dance partner easily enough. Travis quickly adjusts himself and heads for where he last saw his friends. 

Muzz and his vaguely lumberjack look stands out in a crowd so it doesn’t take much; he’s got a few of the guys with him, but Travis is looking for one guy in particular. Andreas is pressed up against a pretty girl, her long hair hanging down her bare back, her low cut dress barely covering her breasts. Travis watches the way Andreas’ hands grip her waist and his stomach burns- with jealousy or heat he can’t tell. It could be both. They make an attractive couple.

“It’s rude to stare.” Travis nearly jumps out of his skin as Justin’s hands land on his hips, chest pressed to his back. 

“Jackass.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m not staring.” 

“Right,” Justin spins him around. “Wanna dance?” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I thought we were?” Justin apparently takes this as an invitation to continue,  _ dipping _ him like they’re fucking Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. “Never do that again,” he shouts as he gets pulled back up, but he’s laughing as he says it. Martin finds them and they fall into an easy dude bro bounce between the three of them that has people inching away to prevent their toes from being crushed. 

“Oh look!” Martin grabs Travis and spins him, leaving him off balance and reaching for the nearest solid object. It turns out to be a pair of familiar, broad shoulders. “An opening!”

Andreas looks startled, barely manages to stay upright himself, but the look fades quickly when he cranes his neck around to see who’s clinging to him. The girl’s gone, Travis realizes even as Andreas presses back, gently pulls Travis’ hands from his shoulders to rest on his hips. 

“Wanna dance?” He leans further back into the cradle of Travis’ body to be heard over the music. It puts his ass in direct contact with Travis’ cock.

He’s going to  _ murder _ his friends.

“Sure!” If his voice comes out funny, Andreas doesn’t seem to notice, and even Travis has forgotten it a moment later when they start moving to the music, Andreas starting a slow, dirty grind. 

He has to bite his tongue to keep from whimpering. This close, the spice of his cologne is overwhelming, the press of his body intoxicating. God, it’s so close to what he desperately wants. 

He drops his head forward, breath coming out in little pants. Andreas tilts his head, and Travis rubs their cheeks together, slides his hands along the planes of his stomach. There’s a sharp intake of air when Travis finds bare skin where Andreas’ shirt has ridden up. He doesn’t second guess himself as he slides his hands up farther, baring more tantalizing skin to the heat of the club. Andreas’ head comes to rest on his shoulder, eyelashes dark smudges on his pink cheeks. His lips look red and kissable and Travis has to bite his own to hold off. 

He lets his eyes fall closed, presses his lips gently, so gently it could be written off as an accident, to the long, pale column of his throat and feels the way Andreas’ pulse is rabbit quick against his skin. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to find out that Andreas isn’t as hard as he is, isn’t as swept away by this as he is. Or if he is, to find out that it’s because Travis is a convenient body. 

The way that Andreas grinds back against his cock, the little sounds Travis can just make out over the noise of the club, the way his stomach muscles flex under Travis’ hands make him hope just a little though.

“Guys!” They jerk apart, startled. Mitch either doesn’t notice how flushed they are or doesn’t care because he continues on quickly, “We’ve  _ lost _ Ilya!”

“How the fuck did you lose Mikheyev?” Andreas recovers faster, judgy eyebrows in full effect. “Wasn’t he in the booth?”

“Well  _ yeah.” _ Mitch runs a distracted hand through his hair; he looks a little drunk and panicked. It’s understandable- Keefe will  _ kill them _ if they lose their broken Russian. “But he was feeling nauseous so we took him outside for a minute  _ and he disappeared!” _

Travis scrubs his hands over his face and wills his erection to go down. He’s going to have the worst case of blue balls  _ ever. _

“Stop panicking,” he snaps, feeling justifiably frustrated. “We’ll track his phone or something, okay?”

“What are we, spies?” Mitch demands.

“He has an Iphone.” Travis rolls his eyes. “That shit is easy to track.”

They grab the others and head for the booth. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Ilya is down the street getting fast food- mainly because the asshole is  _ posting _ pictures of his meal like he doesn’t have half the team panicking for nothing. They end up calling the club quits and as a group head to the restaurant, ambushing the poor owners as twenty giant hockey players squeeze into as few booths and tables as possible. Travis ends up between Willy and Muzz with a plate of dumplings piled high before him. Andreas is at another table, too far away to talk to. He barely glances Travis’ way, talking intently with Justin, the lucky bastard, despite how much Travis must be staring.

“This restaurant is delicious.” Ilya says in his thick Russian accent, drunk and happily munching on sweet and sour pork. He’s too adorable to stay mad at.

“Yeah buddy,” Travis sighs, sliding some dumplings across for him to try. “It sure is.”

::

Travis resolves to stop by Andreas’ apartment the next day- afternoon rather. He doesn’t even see the morning, waking up vaguely, but not  _ terribly, _ hung over. 

_ “Are you finally manning up?” _ Justin had called to invite him out with Mo and T-beauts and had stayed on the line when he’d found out Travis’ plans. 

“Fuck you, I’m plenty manly.”

_ “You’re still not banging Mango. It’s been how long?”  _

Travis considers just hanging up on him but knows he’ll just call back. Or worse- show up at his door.

“I need better friends,” he decides, grabbing a tight black polo he knows showcases his shoulders and arms. He grabs a snapback, shoves his feet into his shoes and his wallet into his pocket. “Hope you have a terrible day.” 

_ “Hope you get laid!” _ Justin calls back cheerfully, ending the call himself.

Travis grabs an Uber over, figuring it’s easier than trying to find parking downtown. The doorman recognizes him, whether from the sheer amount of time he spends at Andreas’, or from the Leafs it doesn’t matter because he lets him in. 

The happy surprise that spreads across Andreas’ face is worth potentially being considered a loser with no life of his own.

“What are you doing here?” He steps back to let Travis in but doesn’t go far, and Travis has to brush against him as he slides his sneakers off. 

“I was in the area,” he lies. “Thought I’d see what you were up to.” 

“Not much.” Andreas laughs, hanging up Travis’ coat and then ushering him down the short hall to the living area. Klaus is up on the big screen, still playing like Andreas hadn’t thought he’d been away long. Now, though he reaches out to grab the remote and turn it off.

“Hey, I haven’t seen this one in  _ at least _ a week.” Travis snags his arm, tugging the remote from him gently. “We could finish it if you want.”

“You sure you want to watch it again?” Andreas looks torn, biting at his lip. Travis’ fingers itch to reach out and trace where it’s left them reddened and plump. 

“I love this one.” He grins and flops down on the couch. “Grab us some snacks and I’ll restart it.”

Andreas rolls his eyes but heads for the kitchen and Travis doesn’t miss the fond smile on his face.

They end up curled together on the couch- he’d thought about staying safely on his end, avoiding temptation and all, but Andreas is like magnetic north and he’s always been helplessly drawn to him. Andreas solves any hesitancy Travis might have had, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over them as he curls up against his side. Travis huffs out a laugh, stretching his arm out across his broad shoulders and encouraging him to slide closer. He’s a wall of heat where they’re pressed together, his hair a little damp from where he must not have dried it after his shower. Travis has to close his eyes, a little overwhelmed at the heat and scent, at the way his chest gets tight with longing.

“I’m waiting,” Andreas says quietly and Travis startles. He’s watching him, face tilted up and expression unreadable. Travis’ heart stutters, then kicks up a gear. 

Andreas is waiting. For  _ him. _ He licks his lips and watches amazed as Andreas’ gaze drops to them.

_ Fuck it, _ he thinks, and leans down to press their lips together.

Andreas lets out a sound of surprise but doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses closer. Travis curls his hand around Andreas’ neck, uses the other around his shoulder to keep him there. He hums into the kiss, feeling the way Andreas melts against him. He moves his lips easily with Travis and he nips at them to feel the way Andreas shivers in his arms. 

“I meant—” Andreas’ breath feathers against his cheek as they separate for air, his voice barely a whisper but filled with humor. “To press play.” 

“What?” Travis asks, distracted by the long stretch of pale skin before him as he runs his lips from his cheek to his neck, biting down to see the way Andreas tilts his head back to offer him more space to work with. 

“When I said I was waiting—” Andreas’ hands grip his shoulders, breathless under Travis’ assault. “You have the remote.”

Travis pauses. 

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot, wondering if he should pull away or keep going. He clearly read  _ that _ wrong, but he sure as hell isn’t reading  _ this  _ wrong with the way Andreas’ breath hitches when he sucks a particularly vivid mark into his skin. “Oops?”

“Why do I like you again?” Andreas asks and it  _ sounds _ rhetorical so Travis chooses to instead focus on the fact that  _ he likes him. _

He’s not bothered by the fact he sounds like a teenage girl in his head.

Instead he swoops in and kisses him again, deeper, wetter this time, angling Andreas how he wants him with a hand on his jaw. He licks inside his mouth and greedily swallows up every moan. And then Andreas is clambering into his lap, trying to keep the kiss going even as he pushes Travis back into the couch cushions with the weight of his body. Travis toys with the hem of his shirt, sliding his hands up and under to feel the fever of his skin, desperate for more. 

Andreas whines when he breaks the kiss, but lets Travis help tug his t-shirt off, and then returns the favor. The press of their chests together sparks something in him, ramps him up, and he threads his fingers through Andreas’ hair to pull him closer again, to work more of those delicious sounds from him. He can feel the hard press of Andreas’ cock against his stomach, tenting indecently in his sweats. His own is aching in his jeans and he can’t help the rolls of his hips when Andreas settles his weight more firmly. 

_ “Fuck,” _ he stutters, eyes fluttering shut at the delicious pressure against his cock. Andreas grinds down, and again and Travis can’t help the sounds that are ripped from him. He drags his nails down Andreas’ back, trying to ground himself, and Andreas shudders, arching into the touch.

“Up,” Andreas scrambles off him abruptly leaving Travis cold and feeling vaguely exposed. “Up, up, up!”

He catches on pretty quickly as Andreas tows him towards his bedroom, butterflies blooming in his stomach at the implication. He squeezes Andreas’ hand and gets a warm smile in return. Andreas rips off the duvet, and then urges Travis back until the backs of his knees hit the mattress and he’s falling. 

He bounces, laughing, and then Andreas is on him, crawling up his body to press hot, wet kisses to his mouth. He’s a whirlwind, leaving Travis gasping as he works his way down, sucking kisses into his skin. His mouth finds Travis’ nipples and he arches his back, breathlessly turned on. 

“Andreas,” he groans and talented fingers skim down his stomach, popping the button of his jeans. They cup him through the rapidly dampening fabric, teasing. He reaches out, tries to tug him up for a kiss, for  _ anything _ but Andreas is one of the most stubborn people he knows and continues mouthing his way down Travis’ chest. 

He pulls away enough to ease Travis’ zipper down, ridding him of his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement. His cock is flushed red and dripping, curving up towards his stomach, desperate for attention. 

He doesn’t have a chance to feel embarrassed because Andreas is crawling between his legs eagerly, using his broad shoulders to make space for himself as he stretches out on his belly. He rests his hands on Travis’ thighs, rubs them as he presses kisses to his stomach, his hips. His cheek brushes against Travis’ cock and he jolts, the scrape of his stubble sending bursts of lightning through him. He’s a fucking tease, but then again, that’s not news.

His mouth is hot, teeth sharp as he works over the thin skin on the inside of Travis’ thighs, leaving marks in his wake that Travis will be able to press fingers to later and still feel their ache. Andreas’ cheek brushes against his cock again and a smear of precome is left there, the sight enough to make Travis wrap a tight hand around his cock, groaning. 

Andreas’ grin is wicked right before he  _ finally _ seals his lips around the head of his cock. 

He’s  _ definitely _ done this before. There’s the perfect amount of suction as he slowly works his way down, and Travis doesn’t even realize he’s still holding his cock until Andreas’ lips meet his fist and he pulls back up, and off, licking a stripe along his cock and suckling on the head again. 

“Shit,” he breathes. Andreas guides his free hand to his hair, lets him tangle his fingers there and then bats the fist wrapped around his cock away.

“Try not to rip my hair out,” he teases.

“We all know you’re going to be the first to go bald,” Travis automatically chirps back.

Andreas doesn’t need to reply, not verbally at least. He sinks back down on Travis’ cock, all the way this time, and Travis has to bite his lip at the sight of Andreas, mouth stuffed full of Travis’ cock. He keeps one hand in Andreas’ hair, grip tight, urging him to start bobbing his head, and the other traces the stretch of his mouth, the ruddy colour of his cheeks. His eyes are bright and shiny, chin wet with spit. He’s a mess. 

He’s every wet dream Travis has ever had.

He gasps- watches as Andreas pulls off, licks at the head and sinks back down again, barely pausing for breath. He can feel his orgasm building, the need to come more pressing. He rocks his hips a little, just testing, and Andreas lets him, hums a little in response.

He forgets anything other than  _ fuck _ and  _ shit _ and  _ please. _ And then he’s pulling at Andreas’ hair in warning and  _ the fucker pulls off. _

_ “Why?” _ he whines, hips bucking of their own accord. Andreas pats his thigh, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and crawls back up to kiss Travis.

“Want you to fuck me,” he whispers against Travis’ lips, and okay. That’s. That’s  _ a lot. _ But Travis can get behind that. In a manner of speaking. 

He can’t find the words so instead he tugs Andreas back in for a deep and dirty kiss, swallowing the moans he lets out as Travis tangles his hands in his hair. His cock is hot, pressed against Travis’ hip, big and  _ perfect _ and Travis thinks about getting his mouth on him, seeing what other delicious sounds he can draw from Andreas, but then Andreas is pulling back, shaking off his hold and leaning over to rummage through the nightstand. 

He deposits a condom on Travis’ chest, a half empty tube of lube in hand as he deftly squirts some out and reaches behind himself.  _ That _ gets Travis moving.

“Give me that!” He grabs the lube, plants one hand on Andreas’ hip and flips them in one smooth motion. He’s pretty fucking impressed with himself. Andreas is too if the wide eyes and darkened flush are anything to go by. 

He’s going to have to keep that one in mind.

He takes his time, pouring lube into his palm, careful to warm it up. Andreas spreads his legs, feet planted and knees bent, watching him with dark eyes, pupils blown wide. The flush on his cheeks goes all the way down Travis is delighted to see and he takes a moment to press his lips to his collarbone, tongue teasing along the dips and ridges of his chest. 

Andreas is breathing hard by the time he presses the tip of one finger to his hole. He strokes lightly over it, letting him get used to the touch. He can’t decide where to focus- on the first press of his finger into Andreas, how hot he is, how  _ tight, _ or the searing gaze focused on  _ him, _ as Andreas bites his lip, pressing into the touch.

_ “Fuck _ you’re hot,” Travis groans, dropping his head to press a quick kiss to his hip. Andreas is miles of pale skin and toned muscles, his summer tan having long since faded. 

“You’re alright, I guess.” Andreas’ cheeky grin quickly fades, a gasp drawn from him as Travis dribbles the cold lube directly over his hole. He laughs, shaky, and manages to somewhat successfully knee Travis in the head. “Jackass.” He says, expression fond.

Travis has to duck his head at the tightness in his chest, pressing a kiss to the knee he’d been so rudely attacked with and sets to work reducing Andreas to a puddle of goo. Andreas takes the second finger with a little resistance, but it fades quickly and he’s left grasping at the sheets, at Travis, at anything he can reach. Travis has done this enough times that he has a good idea of what he’s looking for, can tell he’s found it at the gasp that escapes Andreas. 

He falls back against the pillows, hips rolling as Travis crooks his fingers. He’s gorgeous, spread out before him, trembling as Travis works him over. He’s so  _ responsive, _ eager for everything Travis gives him, taking in a third and a fourth finger, body asking for  _ more. _

Travis teases him, trails his lips along his cock, biting his own marks into the skin of his thighs. Little whimpers fall from his lips, eyes clenched shut. His cock looks like it must be  _ aching _ where it rests against his stomach, precome collecting against his abs. 

“Good?” He murmurs, crooking his fingers. Andreas shudders, nodding desperately. He traces his thumb around his rim, feeling where he’s stretched wide around Travis’ fingers, wondering how much more he can take. 

Andreas mumbles something, thighs shaking on either side of Travis’ head and it could be Swedish or it  _ could _ be that’s he managed to melt his  _ brain- _ which score one for him. Either way he’s sure it means  _ hurry the fuck up. _

He’s careful as he slides his fingers out but Andreas still protests, eyes slitted open and glaring like Travis has committed a serious offence. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve got you.” Travis stretches up his body, covers him and presses in for a sweet kiss. Andreas responds beautifully, arms winding around his shoulders, opening up for him like they’ve been doing this for  _ years. _ Travis tries not to linger on that. 

He has to pull back to find the condom where it’s fallen into the sheets, the packaging stuck to Andreas’ elbow. His hands are shaking a little as he tears the wrapper open, pinches the tip and slides it down over his cock. He grunts at the feeling of his hand on his neglected cock, gives in and strips it once, twice as Andreas watches, expression greedy. 

“How do you want this?” He asks once he’s managed to still his hands. It’s a feat considering how hard he is, with Andreas laid out before him like a feast he’s free to ravage. 

Andreas scrambles up onto his hands and knees- nearly kneeing Travis in the head  _ again- _ and then glances back over his shoulder. There’s a wicked grin on his face as he fucking  _ wiggles _ his ass at Travis.

“Like this.” 

Travis groans, hands falling to Andreas’ cheeks, spreading them and taking in the sight. Fuck, if he wasn’t so desperate to sink into that heat he’d spend  _ ages _ licking him open instead, just like this, until all Andreas could say was his name. 

Maybe next time, he thinks, distracted, only to ruthlessly shove the thought aside. He doesn’t know what comes after this. 

Andreas shifts, impatient, and Travis sinks his teeth into one asscheek to hear the way he yelps and jerks against his hold. He licks over the mark, a sort of apology, when in reality he’s the opposite of sorry. He  _ loves _ seeing his mark on Andreas’ skin.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” 

“You  _ do _ look so pretty like this.” Travis teases. He gets a glare in return but it disappears quickly as he lines his cock up and pushes in.

Andreas’ mouth drops open, eyes fluttering shut. He’s so fucking  _ tight _ around Travis’ cock, even after four fingers. He wonders how often he does this, if he’s even done this before. The thought catches him off guard and he groans, buries himself to the hilt in one quick thrust instead of waiting like he knows he should. 

_ “Fuck, fuck, sorry,” _ he pants, hips flush against Andreas ass. He leans forwards, peppering Andreas’ shoulders with quick little kisses, trying to catch his breath. It’s overwhelming, the hot tight press of his body underneath him, the tremors he can feel racking his frame as he works to adjust to Travis. 

“It’s fine,” Andreas’ head is hanging, voice breathless. Travis leans back, feeling a little more under control, running his hands along Andreas sides. “It’s fine, just  _ move.” _

It’s been awhile since he’s fucked anyone; he’s got even less time to pick up now that he’s up in the NHL, and lately he hasn’t wanted to, not with Andreas’  _ everything _ in his face all the time. Fuck, he hopes he doesn’t embarass himself.

He grits his teeth at the first slow drag out, can’t help but watch the way his cock holds him open, the way Andreas’ body greedily clings to him, tries to pull him back in. His hips snap back in and Andreas chokes, a white knuckled grip on the sheets. He tries to keep it slow, considerate, but Andreas starts letting out these sounds- little whines, choked off moans- and Travis isn’t a fucking  _ Saint. _

He fucks in hard, deep, keeps an eye on the way Andreas moans, the shivers that rack his frame, and knows he’s found what he’s looking for when he shouts, dropping to his elbows.  _ Fuck, _ he’s gorgeous, ass offered up to Travis like a gift. He builds up a rhythm, steady as he can keep it, trying to nail Andreas’ prostate to keep pulling those delicious sounds from him. 

Andreas is unashamed, vocal in what he likes and it turns Travis on like nothing else. He’s been with guys who try to keep it quiet, muffle their sounds, but Andreas just embraces them, lets Travis know what he’s doing right. He’s hoping the walls have good soundproofing or they’ll have some apologizing to do.    
Sweat’s building on his temples, the small of his back. He’s chasing the orgasm he can feel building in his gut. He’s determined to make Andreas come first, come on his cock. Andreas has his face turned, cheek pressed to the mattress, mouth hanging open. He looks thoroughly debauched, insanely gorgeous. Travis wants to be the only one to see him like this, the only one able to take him apart like this. 

_ Mine, _ he thinks, furiously. 

“You’re so hot,” he grinds out, gaze switching from Andreas’ fucked out look to where he’s burying his cock in his tight hole over and over again. 

_ “Travis,” _ Andreas chokes out, reaching back. Travis grabs his hand, grips it tight. The headboard is slapping against the wall and they’re skidding up the bed. He plants a foot to gain more traction and nearly slips out. Andreas lets out a whine, trying to tug him closer with the grip he has on his hand. He shivers when Travis slides back in, death grip easing up a little, letting Travis build up their rhythm again. 

_ “Come on, come on,” _ Andreas pants against the sheets, eyes shut, brow furrowed. He must be close, but he’s not touching himself. Waiting for Travis, he realizes with a jolt. Travis can feel his own orgasm building but doesn't want to come until Andreas does. 

It takes some convincing, but he manages to get Andreas to let go of his hand, gives up his leverage to lean in and wrap a hand around his cock. Andreas fucking  _ wails _ and stills and comes all over Travis’ fist.

_ Fuck _ that’s beautiful. Travis loses his rhythm, hips stuttering as Andreas becomes impossibly tighter, milking his cock as he fucks into him a handful of times, groaning as his orgasm hits him like a freight train.

It feels like ages before he can breathe again, before the roaring in his ears quiets. He grips the condom and pulls out carefully. Andreas sinks down against the mattress with a quiet groan. He looks wiped, half asleep, boneless.

Travis ties off the condom, manages to make his legs work long enough to get him to the bathroom to toss it and grab a washcloth. Andreas hasn’t moved by the time he gets back, barely stirs as Travis wipes them both down and tosses the cloth in the laundry hamper. 

He hesitates, hovering between the bed and the door. Bright afternoon sunlight streams in through the open curtains, making Andreas’ hair shine golden against the pillows. He wants to go over there, crawl in with him, pull the covers up over them both but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. Is this where he’s supposed to leave? It wouldn’t be the first hook up he’s had where he’s had to see himself out. Those usually didn’t bother him. The idea of leaving now, especially with Andreas sprawled across the bed, naked and satisfied, seems insurmountable.

“What are you still doing over there?” He hadn’t realized Andreas was watching him too, eyes slit open. He stretches lazily and Travis’ mouth goes dry. “Get over here.”

Travis doesn’t need to be told twice. He hurries over, jumping into bed just to hear the way Andreas laughs, startled. Feeling daring he leans in, steals a kiss. Andreas winds his fingers through his hair and opens so sweetly for him. They make out lazily for a bit until the chill of the room settles over them. Travis shuts the blinds then, retrieving the duvet from the floor and settles it over them. 

He falls asleep to Andreas’ head on his chest, arm wrapped tight around his waist like he’s holding on to this as tightly as Travis.

::

The boys take one look at them in the locker room and the chirps start, followed closely by congratulations. They’d set themselves up for it really, driving in together, both covered in matching hickeys from the night before and the morning of. Travis has trouble keeping his hands off of Andreas, looking for reasons to touch him- a hand on his hip, shoulders brushing, resting on his knee. He just wishes he knew how much he’s allowed.

Andreas is moving a little stiffly on the ice. 

The no contact jersey is finally off but he’s off his game and it takes Travis an embarrassingly long time to realize that  _ that _ is his fault. They might have been a little  _ too _ energetic. 

He flushes scarlet with the realization, but what’s worse is the low burn of possessiveness that shoots through him-  _ he _ did that. And now all the other guys must know too.

“Someone looks smug,” Andreas mutters as they hang around the bench, out of the way of the three on three happening. Travis shrugs but can’t hide the grin that’s spread across his face. “Next time we don’t do this right before practice.”

“Next time?” Travis can’t quite keep the hope from his voice.

“Well, I’m still waiting for you to actually ask me out,” Andreas teases, leaning in and bumping their shoulders. 

“You haven’t asked Mango out?” Justin appears out of fucking  _ nowhere _ , scaring the crap out of him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” He swats the back of Travis’ head. 

“What’s he done this time?” Martin shows up next to him, Tyson at his shoulder. He needs new fucking friends.

“They finally boned and he  _ still _ hasn’t asked Mango out,” 

“You’re an idiot,” Martin tells him. “Mango, Andreas. Forget my dumbass friend here, go out with me instead. I’ll  _ woo _ you.”

Andreas laughs, the sound bright as fucking sunshine. Travis is so gone for this guy.

“I’m taking him out Friday,” he blurts out to everyone's surprise.

“You are?” Andreas arches an eyebrow.

“Yeah, dinner and a movie.” He’s warming to the subject. Martin gives him a  _ very _ judgmental look. “Uh, the Keg.” He corrects. Then adds because Justin isn’t looking very impressed either. “Mansion. And then I’ll rent a theatre?”

“We can just go back to your place after dinner,” Andreas gives him an out. “And watch a movie there. Like yesterday.”

The look he gives Travis is  _ scorching. _

Travis swallows heavily and ignores Martin and Tyson’s high five.

He has  _ no idea _ how he’s going to survive until Friday, but he’s sure it’ll be worth it.


End file.
